I can hear the genuine concern in his voice, and it seems dangerous. When was the last time someone asked about my life like this?
"I have work friends," I say carefully. "But I tend to keep my professional and personal lives separate."
Which kind of goes with the territory when you lead a double life.
"That sounds lonely, too."
"It's safer. Mixing the two can get complicated."
"Complicated how?"
Sweat beads on my forehead. This conversation is like trying to tiptoe in stilettos through bubble wrap without making the bubbles go snap.
"People have expectations about who I should be, what I should want. It's easier to maintain boundaries."
"But doesn't that get exhausting, always being what people expect instead of who you are?"
It’s my entire life.
“I suppose,” I reply.
“Maybe we have more in common than you’d think,” he says softly.
I turn to face him, the outline of his features only just visible in the dim light. “Max, you were born into a life ofprivilege. I had the rug pulled right out from under my feet before I was even a teenager.”
“Your world may have changed suddenly, and mine more gradually, but neither of us got to enjoy the childhood other people get. We both had to grow up too fast.”
Thoughts ping like pinballs in my mind. I've always regarded myself as the underdog, the scrappy kid whose life went off the rails, who's had to fight for everything she's got, hiding behind the façade of Fabiana Fontaine. Max has the world laid out for him on a gold platter.
I've always thought we couldn't be more different if we tried.
But now that I'm lying here, next to this person I've always envied for his privilege and family, his position and carefree life, there's truth in his words.
Wearemore alike than I'd ever given credit. It’s why I can see him for who he really is under his layers. I recognize myself in him.
We both perform for others.
We both hide our true selves.
Only we do it for very different reasons.
“Fabiana,” he says, and there's something in the way he says my fake name that makes my chest tighten. "You don't have to be anything other than yourself with me.”
If only you knew how impossible that is.
“That's very kind of you to say.”
"I'm not being kind. I'm being selfish. As I said, I want to know you. Really know you.”
“Why?” I ask, my voice breathy, not sure I want to hear his reply.
“Because…because I’ve never met anyone quite like you.”
“Rude, sharp, name calling?” I joke in an attempt to break some of the tension between us.
“Intriguing,” he replies, the word hitting me like an arrow through the heart.
A change of subject is needed, and fast, before I do or say something I might regret.
